Time Flies
by felicemorigel
Summary: Harry Potter's life is changing in ways he could never have imagined. But sometimes, everyone could use a little help from a mad man with a blue box - and Harry needs it more than most. Thanks for all the follows, favourites and reviews! Sadly I do not own Doctor Who or Harry Potter :(
1. Chapter 1

When he drove past it on Monday morning, Mr Vernon Dursley was only briefly concerned about the old-fashioned police box which had suddenly appeared, apparently overnight, on the corner of Privet Drive.

On the one hand, it was out of the ordinary, and Mr Dursley disapproved of anything out of the ordinary.

On the other hand, it was clearly something to do with the police. Police meant respectability, and Mr Dursley strongly approved of respectability.

So he promptly put it out of his mind and continued on his way to work, preparing himself mentally for another busy, productive day of eating biscuits and making himself unpleasant to junior staff.

The police box was still there when Harry Potter trudged slowly past it on his way home from school that afternoon, but he barely registered its presence. Home, he was thinking bitterly, was really the least suitable word to describe the place he was currently forced to live. Almost anywhere would be better. A cave full of monsters. The bottom of a ditch. Well, they couldn't be that much worse. But he supposed at least he was fed, sort of, and clothed, sort of, and had a place to sleep, even if it was in a cupboard. Harry did sometimes wonder - well, often, actually - how different life would have been if his parents hadn't died, and he wasn't forced to live with his cold, unwelcoming aunt and uncle and horrible cousin. But there was no point in thinking about that. This was his life and it wasn't about to change in a hurry.

He didn't know he was being observed.

The observer observed a thin boy with untidy black hair and glasses, who looked slightly younger than his nine years. He wore trousers which were a bit too short and a jacket which had seen better days. He looked thoroughly fed up.

Harry looked even more fed up a moment later when a gang of boys, including his cousin Dudley, rounded the corner and immediately started shouting and jeering at him. Harry had had this all day at school and suddenly felt he couldn't take it any more. He stopped dead and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing himself somewhere, anywhere else. Moments later, he opened them to find himself, to his great confusion, crouched behind a tall hedge in a nearby garden.

"Where'd he go?" Dudley looked round, baffled. "What's that stupid box doing there?"

He peered round the back of the police box to see if Harry was hiding behind it. No sign of him.

"He must have gone inside it!"

The boys all laughed loudly and started chanting again – "Pot-ter, Pot-ter, Pot-ter!"

Harry crouched down lower behind the hedge, peering through a gap to see what was going on.

Dudley rattled the police box door, then sprang back in alarm as a tall man flung the door open, slammed it behind him and glared down at Dudley.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Dudley shrank back. "S-s-sorry, s-s-sir." He glanced round nervously for support but his friends had mysteriously melted away. He looked up at the man, who he assumed to be a plain-clothes police officer. The man had close-cropped dark hair, noticeably big ears and wore a black leather jacket. His expression as he regarded Dudley was furious.

"What's your name, lad? No - don't tell me. I know exactly who you are, Dudley Dursley."

Dudley looked, if possible, even more terrified than before. Behind the hedge, Harry had to clap his hand over his mouth to stop himself from giggling at the expression of abject horror on his face. It was a very rare event for Dudley to have his behaviour challenged in any way. His parents believed he could do no wrong, and the teachers at school always seemed to turn a blind eye to the bullying antics of Dudley and his gang. They chose their victims well - the kids who wouldn't fight back and didn't have parents who would kick up a fuss.

The policeman - presumably that's what he was, though Harry wasn't sure how he knew Dudley - spoke again. He seemed to have a Northern accent. Northern accents were rarely heard in Little Whinging, and this somehow made him even more intimidating to Dudley.

"Now listen to me, Dursley. I know your sort, and I don't like 'em. I've been around a long time, and I'venever tolerated bullies and I never will." He took a menacing step forward. "Leave Harry Potter alone or you'll have me to answer to."

Dudley stared at him, aghast. He looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. Through the gap in the hedge Harry watched, astounded and delighted.

"Right?" said the man.

Dudley gave a tiny nod.

"Right. Off you go. And think on."

He stood and watched as Dudley scuttled off down the road and let himself into No. 4.

Harry crouched behind the hedge, trying to process what he had just witnessed. The man disappeared out of sight behind the blue box and Harry assumed he had gone inside, but moments later, a tall shadow fell across him. Harry looked up nervously, but the man was smiling, a huge grin that lit up his face. Harry couldn't help smiling weakly back.

"Well, that's got rid of him. Come on, Harry. Out you come."

Harry climbed clumsily to his feet and exited the garden, pulling his rucksack more firmly across his shoulders.

They stood together outside the police box, its door still firmly closed.

"Right, son. That should get your cousin off your back for a bit. Not forever, I shouldn't think, but at least for a while."

"I... thanks." Harry really meant it. It was the first time he could ever remember that somebody had taken his side, tried to look out for his interests. "I... Do I know you?"

"You do now." There was that big grin again. The leather-jacketed man stuck his hand out, and Harry tentatively gave it a shake. "I'm the Doctor. Nice to meet you, Harry Potter."

"Er - thanks," said Harry faintly.

The man - a doctor? not a policeman after all? - leaned back against his blue box. "Listen, son. I know your life's rubbish at the moment. I wish I could do more to help you, but I can't - you'll understand why, one day. But keep one thing in mind. Things are going to change for you, Harry, more than you could possibly imagine. More than anybody in Little Whinging could possibly imagine. There's a world out there that's wild and mad and dangerous and beautiful and it's all coming your way. Hold that thought."

He opened the police box door, just wide enough for him to squeeze through, and gave Harry a wave.

"Hang on! Will I see you again?"

"Expect so, yeah. Keep your eyes open." That grin - it looked almost demented now - spread over the Doctor's face again, and he closed the door quite gently behind him.

Harry stared for a few moments, then turned and walked away. An observer - had there been one - would have noted a lightness in his step that hadn't been there earlier. Every few paces he glanced back at the police box, but it stood there solid and immoveable and with its door firmly closed.

As Harry turned towards No. 4 - wondering what sort of reception he would get from Dudley - a strange wheezing, groaning sound shattered the peace of Privet Drive. Looking back, Harry blinked and shook his head slightly, trying to process what he was looking at. The empty space where that blue box had been standing.


	2. Chapter 2

Professor Dumbledore's study, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Ah, Professor McGonagall. Come in, come in." Albus Dumbledore regarded his friend and colleague over the top of his spectacles, then returned his gaze to the piece of parchment before him.

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?"

"Yes, yes indeed. As you know, owls are due to be sent out to the forthcoming intake of first years. I hoped to have a quiet word with you first. There are some rather - interesting names on the list."

Minerva McGonagall took the proffered list and perused it for some moments. "Yes. I see what you mean."

"Hmmm." He took the list back and glanced down it again. "A healthy mix of wizarding families and the usual few Muggle-borns - here, for instance, Miss Granger. A young lady from a family of dentists, I believe - no previous magical connections. My information suggests that she may be very promising, very promising indeed."

McGonagall nodded.

"And then we have the Malfoy boy. Not that I wish to taint the child with the sins of the father - no no, not at all. But still. No harm keeping an eye, eh? Young Longbottom, now - rather an unfortunate background. You know about his parents, of course. Very sad situation, very sad. Lives with his grandmother now, a very formidable lady indeed." They both smiled slightly at the thought of the formidable Augusta Longbottom. "Anyway, he may need some extra support. Then there's the most recent Weasley - shouldn't be anything to concern us unduly there... good lads, all of them. Even the twins."

Professor Dumbledore tapped his quill thoughtfully on the parchment.

"And - of course - Harry Potter."

"Ah."

"Yes. Something of a unique situation, and I really have very little idea of what to expect from the young man. For his own safety, of course, no-one from the wizarding world has made contact with him since he was placed with his relatives as a baby."

"Quite so," agreed Professor McGonagall.

"However, an old friend of mine has looked in on him from time to time, though I think he only made direct contact once, and that was unplanned. Partly as a favour to me and partly - well, I think he has his own reasons. I have not inquired. It seems, however, that young Harry's aunt and uncle may not have provided him with as good a home as we may have hoped."

"I see. I see. This friend of yours - not a wizard, presumably, given the risks you have just stated? A Muggle, then?"

Professor Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Not a wizard, no, though I don't believe we can really classify him as a Muggle either. He is a rather... unique individual. Something of a law unto himself. I have known him for a considerable number of years, and we have been able to help each other in various ways from time to time."

"Presumably he has a name - this unique individual?" McGonagall's curiosity was getting the better of her rather.

"Oh yes, no doubt he does, but I have always known him simply as... the Doctor."

Dumbledore's face took on a faraway expression as he reminisced about his old friend.

"I met him first in... 1963, I think it was. He was, or then appeared to be, an elderly man who travelled around with his granddaughter - a most charming young lady. Since then, I have regrettably grown older, and he - well, unaccountably, he somehow appears to grow younger. I met him later as a young fair-haired fellow, and more recently as a handsome curly-haired chap in Victorian-style clothes - his style of dress is always rather, I think the word is 'eclectic'. The fair-haired fellow used to wear some kind of vegetable in his lapel - I've only just remembered that! Anyway, he seemed to disappear for a long while after that. It is only fairly recently that we have re-established contact."

McGonagall looked perturbed. "So you are saying, Headmaster - correct me if I am wrong - that this 'Doctor' is some kind of... shape-shifter? Yet he is not magical?"

"He has certain - abilities. I don't claim to be entirely able to understand, and he confides very little. However, he is completely trustworthy, I can assure you of that. Now, going back to the matter of young Potter..."

"Of course" said McGonagall hastily, although she was intrigued to learn more about the mysterious Doctor - not least, why she had never heard of him before.

"As I said, it is difficult to know what to expect. One can only speculate as to what effect his early experiences may have had on him, or how his personality will have developed in the intervening years. However, I think we can be certain of two things. One, that young Harry will know little, if anything, about our world and even about his own background. And two, that Harry will, once he arrives at Hogwarts, become the subject of attention both positive and negative."

McGonagall nodded in agreement. "Here in the castle he will be safe, Headmaster, but we must be vigilant. Hopefully, he will be sorted into Gryffindor, like his parents - that will make it easier to keep an eye on him. Don't worry, Headmaster. Potter will be well protected."

"I don't doubt it." They smiled at each other. "Now, Professor, perhaps you would make arrangements for the owls to be issued?"

Harry had often thought about the "mysterious Doctor" in the long period since he had met him. After all this time, the memory had assumed the quality of a dream, or a fantasy, and he might have believed it to be such, had it not been for the undeniable fact that Dudley still got distinctly nervous about anything to do with the police. Harry had been keeping a sharp lookout for a blue box - he suspected Dudley had, too, for different reasons - but he'd never seen it so far. Except maybe, sometimes, out of the corner of his eye or far away in the distance. But when he looked again, it was never there.

His life hadn't changed yet, not the way the Doctor had promised. Dudley's behaviour towards him had improved for a while but had slowly reverted back to... well, not quite as bad as it had been before, but not far off. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were just as horrible as ever. The only bright spot on the horizon was the prospect of soon going to a new school, Stonewall High, where Dudley wouldn't be.

Still, that encounter with the Doctor had given Harry something he hadn't had before: hope, and a sense, somewhere deep down, that happiness could somehow be found, even in the darkest of times. He was holding on to that belief, just as the Doctor had told him to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hogwarts. Several months later.**

Coming back to the Forbidden Forest had been a really, really stupid idea. That was clear to Harry now. He didn't even know what had drawn him back there; he'd simply woken from troubled, confused dreams with a profound conviction that he had to go there, immediately. It was of the utmost importance. Dressing silently so as not to wake the others - though from the way Ron was snoring his head off, it would have taken nothing less than a bomb falling on the castle to wake him - and slipping the Invisibility Cloak over him, Harry had crept out. Now, as he stood shivering in a patch of moonlight, it seemed he'd been in some kind of trance and had only just awoken from it.

It was a clear, cloudless night, but the bright moonlight rarely filtered through this deep into the forest. Harry admitted to himself that he was lost, and he was very frightened, and the knowledge that it was entirely his own stupid fault was no comfort whatsoever. Things moved in the trees all around him and his invisibility cloak seemed to afford only the smallest measure of protection. Standing in his small area of moonlight, Harry suddenly very much wanted to cry. He was only eleven years old, after all, and right now he wanted nothing more than to be tucked up in his cosy bed in the castle - the safest place he could imagine, the only true home he'd ever known. And now he'd blown it. Something terrible was going to happen here and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

"Pull yourself together, Harry" he told himself silently. "This is getting you nowhere." Looking around yet again, he tried to get his bearings but there was nothing to indicate which way he'd come, and he wasn't good enough at stargazing yet to use the night sky for navigation.

There was rustling and shifting in the trees and undergrowth. Just the wind, Harry told himself, although the night was still. The wind, or the animals which live in the forest at night - perfectly harmless animals. He tried not to think about what else might - no, he knew did - inhabit this particular forest. Then another sound came.

"Harry... Potter..."

Harry whirled round, terrified by the sibilant voice which seemed to come from all directions at once. It's not real, he thought frantically. It's just my imagination getting the better of me. The wind... the non-existent wind. Across the periphery of his field of vision a dark shape moved. The voice came again. And Harry ran. Crashing through the trees, his cloak catching on branches as he ran, praying he did not trip and fall, the only thought in his head to get as far away as possible from that dark shape and hissing voice.

Running towards - what?

There was something just glimpsed through the trees - a light? And suddenly, Harry didn't know how... suddenly, he remembered what had woken him from that dream. A sound he'd heard once before. A sound he'd often hoped to hear again in the years following, but never had, and lately had almost forgotten about when so many other remarkable, undreamt-of things had happened to him.

Vworp... vworp...

Skidding to a halt, Harry found he had come to the edge of the forest, although not the side he wanted to be - he was still far away from the castle. And standing in the bright moonlight a short distance away was an old-fashioned blue police box. And leaning against it, looking entirely relaxed and casual, was a man in a black leather jacket.

Tearing off his invisibility cloak Harry began to run joyfully towards the Doctor. Then, several feet away, he stopped, suddenly embarrassed, and lifted a hand in greeting. Immediately that too seemed like a foolish thing to do. "Hello," said Harry.

"Hello again," grinned the Doctor.

Harry waved his hand back towards the forest. "In there - there's something - it knew my name..." He realised he was trembling.

"Oh, he won't come near here. Don't worry, Harry. You're safe now."

"He... who...?"

The Doctor dealt with this question by ignoring it. "Right. Let's get you home. Shouldn't be out this late on a school night."

He pushed open the police box door and stood back to let Harry go in first. With a puzzled glance back at the Doctor, Harry stepped through the doorway. And looked at the huge space around him, astonished, as the Doctor stood behind him with a smug smile on his face.

If he'd seen this back on Privet Drive that day, Harry thought, his head would probably have exploded on the spot. But he'd seen a lot of impossible-seeming things in the last few months. The shifting rooms and corridors and staircases of Hogwarts. Pictures that moved. A hat that could talk. Flying broomsticks. This was a kind of magic he hadn't yet seen, but he had no doubt that it was magic, nevertheless. And that answered another question he'd been wondering about, too,

"So, you are a wizard," said Harry. "I kind of thought you must be - I mean, once I found out about all that."

The Doctor shook his head. "I'm not a wizard, Harry."

"But this..." Harry gestured round.

"It's called dimensional technology. Which is just a fancy way of saying 'bigger on the inside'. It's science, Harry, not magic. Actually - you'd be surprised how often that's the case. Don't go quoting me on that to your teachers, mind. Right. Off to Hogwarts we go."

He moved over to the central console and started operating controls. Harry stood still, desperately trying to process what was going on.

"So, this box..."

"It's my spaceship, son. It's called the TARDIS."

Harry gawped at him. The Doctor laughed at his expression.

"Oh yeah, magic wands, doesn't turn a hair. But space travel's a step too far for him!"

Was he joking? Harry couldn't tell. All in all, this was turning out to be one of the weirder nights he'd had recently. Spaceship or not, the TARDIS was clearly doing whatever it did to move from place to place - Harry stared, fascinated, as the central rotor moved up and down and a whooshing noise was heard.

"Who are you, really?"

"I told you! I'm the Doctor!" he said chirpily.

Harry felt like saying this wasn't actually particularly helpful, but he didn't want to be rude, so he said nothing. The TARDIS was still and quiet again - it seemed they'd already arrived at their destination.

The Doctor flung the doors open to reveal that they were right in front of the castle.

"Fantastic. Right, back to bed with you, Harry Potter. And no more wandering off in the middle of the night, right?" He shook his head resignedly. "I keep telling 'em, but do they listen?"

Harry took a step to the door, then hesitated. "There's one thing I don't understand," he said. Actually, there were loads of things he didn't understand, but he could only deal with one at a time.

"How did you know to come here - how did you know I'd be there in the forest, tonight?"

"You told me," said the Doctor, raising an eyebrow at him.

"No I didn't." Harry frowned, confused. "I haven't even seen you since..."

"Oh well, yeah, tenses, grammar, very complicated business. We'll get into that another time. Don't worry about it now."

Harry had so many questions still unanswered, but he suddenly realised he was also utterly exhausted and if he didn't get some sleep soon, he'd be liable to collapse where he stood.

"Bye then. And - thanks."

"No need to thank me, Harry. Don't forget your cloak." The Doctor clapped him on the back and watched as Harry walked away, slipping on the cloak as he went, and disappeared from sight.

Harry trudged wearily back to his dormitory, climbed back into his pyjamas - dropping his clothes on the floor around his bed - and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. This time, the sound of the TARDIS dematerialising went unheard.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry's second year.**

Albus Dumbledore looked up from his work as a wheezing, groaning sound broke the silence. He put down his quill with a smile and looked around the room. Sure enough, a large blue box was materialising in one corner of his study. Moments later, a man stepped out, leaving the door open behind him. Dumbledore peered curiously inside, but could only get a glimpse of the remarkable interior of the TARDIS. He regarded the man before him, who stood with his hands plunged into the pockets of his leather jacket. He liked this rather rough-and-ready version - the ninth incarnation of the Doctor, he'd been told - well enough, though he did have to admit to a particular fondness for that handsome curly-haired fellow in the Victorian clothing.

"Doctor. What an unexpected pleasure. I never know when you are coming or what form you will take, but I suppose a little uncertainty is good for the soul. May I interest you in a drink?" He reached for the crystal decanter close by.

The Doctor waved away the offer. "Thanks, Albus, but I can't stop. Things to do, planets to save, you know how it is. Specially now. How's young Harry getting on?" The Doctor strolled around Dumbledore's study, glancing at the many pictures on the walls. He paused before a framed photograph which showed a group of people consisting of a white-haired old man in Edwardian garb, who was tugging at his lapels and looking down his nose at the camera, a dark-haired teenage girl who smiled and waved, and a younger version of Dumbledore in a rather jazzy 1960s-style suit. They appeared to be standing outside a junkyard. The Doctor smiled to himself.

"Mr Potter is doing very well, very well indeed. It's fair to say that his time here at Hogwarts so far has not been... without incident. As you well know, of course, my dear Doctor. But he copes admirably, admirably. He has some excellent friends around him, of course, young Miss Granger, and the Weasley boy..."

"Glad to hear it. And he's keeping up OK with his studies? Getting the hang of the old wand-waving?"

"Oh yes, yes indeed. A very promising young wizard."

"Hmm. Yes. Right. Good. Listen, Albus, I need a favour."

"Anything I can do, Doctor, you know that..."

"It's to do with young Harry, of course. Well, partly. But there's something else, too. Hang on, it's probably easier to show you. Should be here somewhere..."

The Doctor reached into his jacket pocket and began to pull out various items and deposit them on Dumbledore's desk. These included a spanner, a bag of jelly babies, a small white mouse (he looked at this with a rather nonplussed expression; it looked back in alarm, then promptly jumped off the desk and scurried out of sight), a book about string theory (in German), and a yo-yo. Finally, he extracted a crumpled looking piece of paper, glanced at it, then handed it to Dumbledore.

The Headmaster's eyebrows rose as he scanned the contents...

oOo

Harry wasn't entirely sure why, but he hadn't told his friends anything about the Doctor. He hadn't told anyone. Though still desperately curious about who the Doctor was and what connection he had to Harry, there was a part of him which wanted to keep it a secret, something which was for him alone. He didn't particularly want Hermione to start scouring the library for any mention of TARDISes, or Ron to tell him that oh yeah, everybody knew about the Doctor, he was well-known in the wizarding world, how could Harry not know that?

He had thought about asking Professor Dumbledore, or even casually mentioning it to Hagrid. But basically he just didn't want to. He wanted to solve the mystery himself, and they – and he – had plenty of other things to concern them, after all. And if there was one thing he was absolutely sure about, it was that the Doctor could be trusted - that he wasn't in league with Voldemort and his allies - and that, at some point, he would turn up again.

What Harry certainly did not expect was what form that turning-up would take.

oOo

A murmur of curiosity spread through the students gathered in the Great Hall as they registered the presence of the stranger at the staff table.

Still wearing his leather jacket, he stuck out like a sore thumb among the teachers in their wizarding robes. Harry stared at him in amazement as Dumbledore droned on in the background about house points and issued the usual dire warnings against venturing out of bounds.

Eventually, Dumbledore got to the point, by which point nearly every student was in a fever of curiosity about who the newcomer could be. "And finally, I'd like to introduce Dr John Smith, who will be joining the staff for a couple of weeks in an advisory capacity regarding our teaching of science. He will also be meeting with selected students, those who are deemed to have a particular aptitude for the subject. I'm sure you will all give him a warm welcome." Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at the Doctor, who gave a little wave, looking completely relaxed. He didn't look in Harry's direction at all and seemed oblivious to his presence.

Ron gave Harry a confused look. Hermione, on the other hand, looked thrilled beyond measure at the possibility of being singled out as a student with aptitude.

"John Smith, oh yes, that's a really good pureblood name, isn't it," sneered Draco Malfoy over at the nearby Slytherin table. "Muggles on the staff now, this place really is going to the dogs. Wait till my father hears about this. Just look at him, he looks like a - a - football hooligan!"

Harry couldn't help letting out a snort of laughter at that.

"What would a good little pureblood boy like you know about football hooligans, Malfoy?"

Draco just shrugged dismissively. "I know as much as I need to about Muggles and their filthy habits, thanks, Potter." He directed a sneering expression at Hermione, who flushed bright red and stared down at the table.

"Shut it, Malfoy," said Ron angrily.

"Oh, the wit and wisdom of a Weasley!" Draco glanced round the Slytherin table as he said this and was rewarded with a ripple of sycophantic laughter.

The acrimonious exchange was fortunately interrupted by a minor commotion at the back of the hall. Every head turned to see a young woman hurrying through the doors, apparently having been engaged in a dispute with Mr Filch, the caretaker, who was remonstrating with her from outside. Taking no further notice of him, the girl rushed apologetically between the tables of fascinated students, trying and failing to appear inconspicuous, and slipped into an empty seat at the very end of the staff table. She was blonde and very young, appearing scarcely older than the oldest students.

Dumbledore coughed and rose to his feet again. "Yes. This would seem to be an opportune moment to introduce another temporary addition to the staff" he smiled and nodded to the young woman. " A trainee healer who will be gaining experience by assisting Madam Pomfrey in the Infirmary. Hogwarts is delighted to welcome Miss Rose Tyler."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – early in Harry's second year**

You didn't need magic to predict a sudden epidemic of sore throats and stomach-aches once Rose Tyler was installed as a new member of staff in the hospital wing. Just about everybody in the school, it seemed, wanted to come and have a look at the new addition. Madam Pomfrey was finding it really rather wearing, and had some choice words she would have liked to say to Professor Dumbledore on the subject of untrained young women who she was expected to supervise. He'd introduced Rose as the daughter of an old family friend, explaining that she was a Squib who hoped for employment as an assistant Healer - unable to perform any useful magic, but more than willing to learn to carry out the non-magical tasks associated with looking after patients and ensuring the smooth running of the Infirmary. Madam Pomfrey had to admit that Rose, a bright young woman with energy and initiative, was turning out to be quite useful in that respect, although the steady stream of students appearing at the door with imaginary earaches was definitely a downside, though hopefully a temporary one.

Following Dumbledore's introduction of the two newcomers, the talk among the students had been of little else for a while. There was rather more interest in Rose than in the Doctor, who was assumed by the majority to be just another boring Ministry boffin, albeit of a variety not seen before. Harry, of course, was in a fever of curiosity and desperate to find out what the Doctor was doing there – and whether the arrival of this "Rose Tyler" was anything to do with him or merely a coincidence... he suspected the former - but the man seemed to have gone to ground and was nowhere to be found for the rest of the day.

It wasn't till breakfast in the Great Hall the following morning that Harry saw the Doctor again, seated at the staff table between the new Defence against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart – the famous blond heart-throb – and Professor Snape, who was neither blond nor ever likely to be anyone's heart-throb. Harry already knew Lockhart to be rather bad at magic but utterly superb at self-promotion. Snape, by contrast, was – much as Harry disliked admitting it – undeniably good at magic, but everybody hated him. This did not appear to bother Snape in the least. Harry was rather alarmed to note that the Doctor was deep in conversation with him over breakfast. Lockhart appeared to be trying to interject periodically, presumably in an attempt to turn the conversation to his favourite subject – himself – but his efforts were met with withering glances from both the other men.

Lost in thought, Harry was startled when a tiny owl suddenly dropped a small brown envelope on his – fortunately empty – breakfast plate. He picked it up curiously, and saw the words "Read this when you're alone" in small, scrawly writing in one corner. Harry swiftly stuffed the envelope into his pocket, glancing round to check no-one had noticed.

"What's the matter, Harry?" asked Hermione, who'd been engaged in a heated argument with Ron about whether Gilderoy Lockhart was or wasn't the best thing about the school year so far. Hermione herself was a bit disappointed that she hadn't yet been singled out as a potential science star by the man from the Ministry. On the positive side, neither had anyone else. "You look a bit distracted."

"Oh no – nothing – I'm fine."

At the first opportunity – which wasn't till after their first class of the day – Harry hurried off to the privacy of the boys' bathroom and eagerly ripped open the brown envelope. Inside was a note in the same scrawly writing. "Meet me outside Snape's office after dinner tonight. The Doctor."

oOo

On her first full day in the hospital wing – she'd just spent a couple of hours there the day before, to meet Madam Pomfrey and be shown around – Rose arrived late and flustered.

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey. I met that caretaker, Mr whatsisname, Filch, in the corridor again and he didn't want to let me past without the full interrogation. He still doesn't seem to believe I'm really a member of staff..."

Madam Pomfrey tutted. "That terrible man! I don't know why the Headmaster keeps him around."

The Healer started to say something derogatory about Squibs, then looked at Rose and thought better of it. Rose pretended she hadn't noticed. She was already gaining the distinct impression that a Squib wasn't the most impressive thing to be in the wizarding world.

The morning was predictably busy in the hospital wing, but Madam Pomfrey gave short shrift to most of the chancers who were clearly only there out of nosiness and gradually word got around and the steady flow of students decreased. Things quietened down further after lunch. Madam Pomfrey had gone to the Owlery to order some fresh supplies, and Rose was taking the opportunity for a sit-down in the office when the Doctor sauntered in and plonked himself down in the other chair.

"Oh, about time you turned up!" said Rose crossly. "Why did you have to tell them I'm a Squib? I've got to tell you, Doctor, that is turning out to be not exactly the coolest thing to be around here."

The Doctor's eyebrows rose. "Would you rather try doing magic then, and see how far you get with that?"

Rather grumpily, Rose conceded the point. Although she was starting to think privately that she wouldn't mind having a go with a wand – just to see what happened.

"Anyway," he went on, looking around, "you're all right in here. Cushy little number, if you ask me."

"It's all right," said Rose. "Just about every student in the school seems to have been in this morning, though, nothing wrong with most of 'em either. No sign of that one you said to look out for, though."

"No, well, early days. Give it time."

At that moment a fourth year boy – no doubt with yet another invisible ailment – appeared at the door, and the Doctor slipped away with a grin and a wave at Rose.

Rose sighed. "In you come then, you'll have to sit there and wait for Madam Pomfrey. What's your name?"

oOo

After dinner that evening Harry made an excuse to Ron and Hermione and hurried rather nervously down to Snape's office in the dungeons. It wasn't really a place he wanted to be seen hanging around. Especially not by Snape himself.

The Doctor was already there, leaning against the wall outside, hands in his pockets. "Harry, thanks for coming."He pushed the door.

"I think it's-"

"Locked, yes, I can see that."

The Doctor reached into his inside jacket pocket and extracted a narrow pen-like device. He pointed it at the lock. The device buzzed and the lock clicked open.

"Well, that was easy. So much for magic. In you come. Don't worry, Snape's in a meeting with Dumbledore and the rest of the house heads. Heard 'em talking about it earlier."

Harry reluctantly followed the Doctor into the room. The place was so strongly associated with the hated Professor that even just walking through the door made his heart sink. It didn't help, of course, that the place was so dark and gloomy and dismal, just like Snape himself. The Doctor began walking around, taking down bottles from the shelves and inspecting them. He seemed to be looking for something.

"Doctor... why are you here? You're not really called Smith, are you?"

"You heard the Headmaster, Harry." The Doctor turned and grinned at him. "Ministry science bod, that's me. If you ask me, there's not nearly enough scientific rigour being applied round here. They need shaking up a bit."

"But you don't work for the Ministry!"

"Don't I?" The Doctor flipped open a black wallet to show Harry a Ministry of Magic photo ID card announcing him as Doctor John Smith, Chief Scientific Advisor at the Department of Magical Education. The accompanying photo – moving, of course – showed the Doctor furrowing his brow and frowning intelligently.

The real Doctor winked at Harry and put the wallet back in his pocket.

"Psychic paper. Shows whatever you want people to see."

Harry shook his head in amazement. It was becoming increasingly difficult to believe that the Doctor didn't use magic.

"Right," said the Doctor, still taking down bottles and inspecting them. "I'm glad I've got this chance to talk to you, Harry, because there's something important I need to tell you..."

He stopped suddenly. His eyes widened and his grip tightened on the jar he was holding. His gaze seemed to be directed at something – or someone – behind Harry.

Harry turned to see Snape standing just inside the doorway... with his wand raised.

"Oh, fantastic," muttered the Doctor. "No show without Punch."


	6. Chapter 6

"Lower your wand, Severus."

Professor Dumbledore stood in the doorway, regarding the scene sternly – though with a certain air of weariness - over the top of his glasses. Behind him, Professors McGonagall, Sprout, and the tiny Professor Flitwick peered curiously into the room.

Reluctantly, Snape did as he was bid, but continued to glare suspiciously at Harry and the Doctor.

"Did you think I would leave my private quarters unprotected? A simple security charm, ensuring I am alerted if anyone seeks unauthorised admission….." Snape held up a key, which glowed in an attention-getting sort of way.

"Ah. Yeah. Didn't think of that," the Doctor hissed to Harry. Harry couldn't help thinking that the Doctor – whatever magic of his own he may or may not be capable of, and he still wasn't entirely clear on that point – perhaps didn't take _quite_ as much serious account of magic as he should.

Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes discreetly. "So of course, this terribly important breach of Professor Snape's personal security requires _all _of us to disrupt our meeting and rush down here to investigate forthwith…." she murmured to Professor Sprout.

Snape ignored this. "I should have known, of course, that Potter would be involved in some way," he said, his lip curling.

"Really, Severus," said Dumbledore mildly. "I am sure Doctor Smith has good reasons for being here, and indeed for having Harry with him, although I agree that it might have been preferable to have asked you first…."

"Do you take me for a fool, Headmaster? I know perfectly well this man is not employed by the Ministry."

The Doctor coughed and looked about to produce his black wallet again. Snape raised a hand. "Please, don't insult me with simple magic. I am familiar with such charms, paper which shows the viewer whatever they expect to see, and the like..."

The Doctor looked slightly nonplussed at this.

"Severus," said Dumbledore, "Doctor Smith is spending a limited time here at Hogwarts for good reasons which I do not expect you to question. I have given him free rein of the building, although perhaps a little consultation before going into certain rooms in the future would not come amiss...?" The Doctor inclined his head in agreement. "Now, Professors, perhaps we can return to our business?" They all trooped out, Snape making a major point of ostentatiously locking the door behind them and then pointing his wand at it while muttering spells.

Harry was fairly sure he was the only person who had noticed the Doctor surreptitiously slipping the jar he'd been holding into his pocket.

oOo

"Heading back up to the Gryffindor common room, Harry?" The Doctor didn't seem at all abashed by the scene which had just transpired. Harry nodded.

"I'll walk up with you. The room I'm using's in that direction – I think."

They headed along the corridors and before long, the Doctor stopped outside a heavy door and pulled out a key. As he opened the door, Harry peered curiously inside, catching an intriguing glimpse of something blue. The Doctor inclined his head, indicating that he should come in.

Just round the corner, almost out of sight to anyone standing outside the door, stood a big blue box.

The Doctor grinned. "Safest place for her. Too many strange things wandering around outside... mind you, the assembled hordes of Genghis Khan couldn't break into the TARDIS, even if they wanted to. Which they and many others frequently have."

"Seriously?" said Harry. It didn't look all that impregnable. Even if you knew what was inside, from the outside it was... well, it was just a wooden box.

"Doctor... where are you from? Are you from... Earth?" He felt silly even asking the question. The Doctor looked completely human, after all. He didn't have two heads and he wasn't even remotely green in colour. But still, spaceships.

The Doctor's face turned serious. "I'm from – a place that doesn't exist any more." His expression was grim. "There was a war... and everybody lost. My planet – it burned."

"I'm sorry," said Harry inadequately. The pain in the Doctor's eyes made words, any words, any further questions, seem futile.

"I'll tell you more one day, Harry. But not yet. You're not ready. Maybe I'm not, either."

"I don't understand."

"No, not yet. But you will. I just need you to remember this one thing, Harry. Whatever anybody tells you about me – anybody at all – don't believe them. Not until you check with me. Understand?"

Harry nodded in silence, unable to think of a thing to say. And then he headed back to Gryffindor Tower, to an evening of chatting and homework and a night plagued by dreams of blue boxes flying away from devastated, burning planets.

oOo

_The next day_

Madam Pomfrey didn't mind leaving Rose in charge of the hospital wing for short periods, while she popped out on minor errands (which admittedly sometimes included drinking tea and gossiping in the staffroom). The girl, while undeniably young and inexperienced, seemed responsible enough, and besides, what major disasters could really occur in fifteen minutes?

Hence Rose was alone, except for a first-year girl with a nasty rash who was sleeping soundly in an end bed, when the sixth-year boy came in. He was tall and well-built, carrying a broomstick under his arm and sporting a rapidly-developing black eye and what was quite clearly a broken nose.

"Oops!" said Rose, hurrying to get him a clean hanky to replace the blood-soaked one which he was currently pressing to his nose. "Looks nasty! Quick, sit down there."

The boy sat, and gave Rose a rather weak smile. "Nose is broken, right?"

"I'd say so, yeah. Don't worry, Madam Pomfrey'll sort that out for you in no time. What happened?"

"Hit by a Bludger," the boy said ruefully, still clutching the hanky to his nose. "Stupid of me, lost concentration for a second... Embarrassing, really."

"Right, so you were playing... Quidditch? I'm Rose, by the way."

"Believe it or not, I'm actually the Gryffindor Quidditch captain," the boy said bashfully. "Oliver Wood." He smiled at Rose. "Nice to meet you properly. Please excuse me for not shaking hands." She grinned back.

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey came bustling back in. "My goodness, Wood, what on earth have you been up to this time? Really, such a dangerous game, it's just one injury after another..." She tutted and grumbled as she went about cleaning him up, assessing the damage, then fixing it with a couple of well-chosen spells. Rose watched with interest and, she had to admit, a degree of admiration. This kind of magic was really useful stuff, there was no arguing with that.

"There, that's better," said Madam Pomfrey with satisfaction. "Good as new!" Rose had to agree – Oliver wasn't half bad-looking now that his nose was fixed and he wasn't covered in blood and bruising.

"Thanks, Madam Pomfrey. Thanks, Rose." Oliver picked up his broomstick and headed off, with a rather shy smile and wave in Rose's direction.

Now Rose, she told herself sternly, trying to suppress a smile of her own. No flirting with the students. After all, one, she was a member of staff (even if she wasn't really) and two, they were students (even if the eldest ones were barely a year younger than her). Not to mention, three, they did all this magic stuff, and she was still finding all that a bit weird... OK, a lot weird.

It wasn't till later that day, while she was clearing up before dinner, that Rose found the wand. It was probably Oliver's – it had rolled under a bed near to where he had been sitting. Rose picked it up gingerly, not sure what to expect. It didn't seem like anything special – just a wooden stick with a sort of handle on one end. It didn't give her an electric shock, or anything. Not that she expected it to, but she thought she might feel _something. _This was just... a stick.

Feeling deeply foolish, Rose gave it a little wave. "Ummm... Abracadabra! Bibbity-boo!" Not surprisingly, nothing happened. Feeling more confident, she waved it again more vigorously, feeling like the stage magician she and her mum had once gone to see.

The curtain on one of the high windows blew sharply outwards, as if in a sudden gust of wind. Which was strange, because the window was shut. Rose jumped back, startled. Moments later, the room seemed to explode as a boy on a broomstick came crashing through the glass...


	7. Chapter 7

"Honest – I thought it was my fault at first." Rose sank her head into her hands with a groan, then sat up and took a swig of her Butterbeer. They were seated at a corner table in the Three Broomsticks. It was towards the end of the evening and the pub was fairly quiet, with just a few tables occupied and a group of elderly warlocks propping up the bar. Behind the bar, Madam Rosmerta was humming to herself while magically collecting and washing glasses with expert flicks of her wand.

Rose went on, "I mean, there's this boy lying in the middle of the floor surrounded by broken glass, and I thought he was _dead_ for a minute, and there's me standing there holding the wand like it's some sort of smoking gun, and right at that moment Madam Pomfrey comes marching in, and then Oliver looking for his wand…. I swear I thought I was about to be carted straight off to Wormwood Scrubs, or whatever their wizardy version is…. It's_ not funny_, Doctor!"

The Doctor attempted to compose his face into a more serious expression. "Sorry. But the boy's OK, yeah?"

"Hardly a scratch on him." Rose shook her head in disbelief. "Just a bit shocked, but Madam P. gave him a potion and some chocolate and after that he was fine. His broom was a write-off, though. Said he just lost control of it. Neville, his name is. He was a bit upset about the whole thing, said he was going to have to write to his Gran and ask her to send him a new broomstick, sounded like she's a bit of a ferocious old woman…. Oliver was trying to make him feel better, telling him about his accident earlier on, but I don't think it was helping much."

"Hmm, and he just lost control of his broom to the extent of crashing through a window? Seems a bit odd, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but Madam Pomfrey was telling me afterwards that apparently this boy's, like, famous for doing stuff like this, falling off his broomstick and over his own feet and all that sort of thing…. Doctor?" Rose said seriously. "You do realise this lot are all complete nutters?"

"So says Rose Tyler, the totally sane and normal girl who ran off with a strange man in a blue box…"

"Yeah well. Point taken. But I still can't get my head around all this, you know? I mean I've seen the end of the world, and aliens in Downing Street, and faced off against a Dalek. But this… whole other world, right on my doorstep? People doing actual magic, with wands, and flying about on brooms like in kids' stories. It's mental." She shook her head and looked over at Rosmerta, who was now wiping tables by the simple method of pointing her wand at them and muttering a spell under her breath.

"It's part of your world, Rose. You just never knew about it before. Witches and wizards - they've always been there, but when they've come to the attention of you lot in the past, the results haven't always been comfortable for them. Nowadays they go to some lengths to keep their existence quiet..."

"I suppose they haven't always been popular..." Rose recalled old stories of witch trials and burning. "But that wouldn't happen nowadays, would it?... And I mean, this lot seem OK, really. Weird, but OK. This boy Oliver I met, for instance -"

The Doctor gave her a half-serious warning glare. "No more picking up boys, Rose…"

"Excuse me, I didn't _pick anyone up_….."

"OK, no more acquiring of waifs and strays, remember how well it worked out the last time?"

She pulled a face and laughed. "OK, Adam was a bad idea, I'll admit that. But what I mean is, these wizards and witches seem all right. On the whole. Which makes me wonder what we're doing here..."

"Most of them. And as for what we're doing here... let's just call it a fact finding mission, shall we? So far."

Rose knew it was pointless to question him further.

"Just one thing though, Doctor… I suppose it definitely _wasn't_ me caused the accident, was it? I mean, I did wave the wand, and right at that minute…"

"Rose," said the Doctor. "Believe me, if you had a single shred of magical ability, you'd have got a letter when you were eleven, same as the rest of them. That's how it works. Nobody gets missed."

"Oh. All right." Rose felt a bit disappointed. Not that she actually wanted to make people crash through windows, but she was quite taken with the notion of wowing her mum and Mickey with her amazing magical skills, back on the Powell Estate. She could just imagine Jackie's face if she started doing the cleaning by waving a magic wand, like Rosmerta was doing now. To be fair, Rose acknowledged, Jackie would probably be just as surprised if Rose did any cleaning at all, with magic or without it.

"Anyway –" the Doctor drained the last of his Butterbeer and set his glass down on the table with a decisive clunk. "Better head back. Bright and early start tomorrow… Albus has asked me to take Lockhart's Defence Against the Dark Arts class."

Rose gawped at him. "You what? Have you completely lost your marbles? What exactly do you know about Defence Against the Whatsit?"

He grinned maddeningly.

"We'll find out tomorrow, won't we?"

oOo

"'Scuse me sir, but – where's Professor Lockhart?"

The second-year Gryffindors and Slytherins - instructed to join together for this one lesson, though they hadn't been told why - were agog to find that their usual teacher had apparently been replaced by the leather-jacketed man from the Ministry, who lounged at the front of the class flicking through a textbook as they entered the room and took their seats.

"Smith has probably headbutted him and left his body in a heap somewhere," sneered Draco Malfoy. His voice had been pitched to be audible only to the students around him, but apparently the new teacher had bat-like hearing (probably due to the size of his ears) because he gave Draco a look - silencing him effectively - then proceeded to ignore him completely.

"I can think of somebody else who's in desperate need of a good headbutt," whispered Ron with a nod of his head towards the Slytherins, then shut up hurriedly as the teacher's eyes turned in his direction.

"Morning, class. Your Professor received an urgent owl last night, apparently, summoning him to London. Something to do with a photoshoot for _Modern Witch_ magazine." A faint titter ran round the room.

Something in the Doctor's expression of studied innocence as he imparted this information led Harry to wonder if Lockhart's urgent summons had been entirely coincidental.

"So, you've got me instead. Special treat for one lesson only."

"Well, he's got to be an improvement on good old Most-Charming-Smile," Ron hissed, earning himself a disapproving look from Hermione.

"Right," said the Doctor. Harry thought he looked slightly uncomfortable in the role of teacher. "Now, you'll be studying these subjects in more detail later on in your academic careers so I don't want to pre-empt anything too much –"

Malfoy looked extravagantly bored.

"- but what I'm gonna talk to you about today is about recognizing some curses you haven't met before. Turn to page 173 of your textbooks please."

The class flicked through to the correct page. Registering what was on the page, Hermione looked at Harry and Ron in surprise.

"Take the three so-called Unforgiveable Curses, for instance."

Malfoy perked up a bit.

"The Killing Curse," said the Doctor. "Yeah, you tend to notice when someone casts that one. The Cruciatus Curse. Again, fairly hard to ignore."

A slightly plump, untidy-looking Gryffindor boy stared fixedly into a corner of the room, looking as if he was trying very hard not to listen.

"The Imperius Curse, on the other hand, can quite easily go unnoticed by other people, if they're not paying proper attention. Some people might think that curse is less serious than the other two. You're not dead. You're not tortured. In fact, the experience of being Imperiused might feel like quite a pleasant one, a sort of lifting of responsibility, maybe a feeling of lightness and freedom. But freedom is exactly what it is not, because to take away someone's free will – make them do things they would never do, things that are against all their beliefs – now THAT is unforgiveable."

He stared around the room as if he expected the second-years to start Imperiusing each other right, left and centre if they weren't closely observed. Harry felt vaguely guilty, even though he'd barely heard of the spell before and certainly never entertained the idea of casting it. (Even though the idea of forcing the Dursleys to do his bidding _was _quite a pleasant one.) He was also wondering how the Doctor – who according to himself, was not a wizard of any description – knew all this in the first place. Not to mention why he was making such a point of telling them.

He clearly did know at least something about the subject, though, because he was now going on to describe how you might spot the signs of someone under the Imperius Curse and a couple of other equally non-obvious spells. Hermione was frantically jotting down notes, though it didn't really seem the sort of thing they were likely to encounter within Hogwarts. Perhaps she thought they'd be getting a test at the end of the lesson…

It appeared not, because the Doctor was rounding off the lesson now. "Right. Fantastic. Here endeth the lecture. Hopefully a small proportion of it has sunk into some of your heads. Enjoy the rest of your day." With a pointed glance in Harry's direction, he signalled the class to depart.

Hermione grabbed Harry's arm as the students filed out. "Harry, what's going on? Why did he look at you like that? Why's he telling us this? Why's he here at all, really? You know something about this, Harry, I know you do!"


	8. Chapter 8

In the event, it was something of a relief to Harry to tell Ron and Hermione all about his intriguing and still largely inexplicable encounters with the Doctor – their first meeting on Privet Drive, the strange experience in the Forbidden Forest and then the Doctor's extraordinary, still unexplained, appearance on the Hogwarts staff. He'd never promised to keep quiet about it, after all, though he instinctively felt it was best to tell as few people as possible – but he knew Hermione and Ron could be trusted.

Hermione, on the other hand, was less certain about the Doctor. While Ron seemed largely disposed in his favour, Hermione had acquired a look of deep suspicion as the story progressed. The three friends were huddled in a corner of the library, books spread out but unregarded in front of them.

"Harry, this is all very peculiar. You have to admit that. I mean, are you seriously telling us Doctor Smith is some kind of alien who travels about in a spaceship? That's crazy! That's just….. science fiction!"

"Science what?" said Ron.

"Oh, wizards don't really have it, it's Muggle stuff," said Hermione dismissively. "It's very popular, books and films and television programmes, I quite liked some of it myself when I was younger."

Ron raised his eyebrows at Harry.

"But it's not _real_, Harry."

"Yes but, Hermione…." Harry sighed, took off his glasses, polished them and put them back on. "You and I, of all people, should know that things that seem impossible - aren't, always. I mean, what did you think magic was, before you got your Hogwarts letter? Just a story, right? Yeah, maybe some strange things happened to you, maybe you could do some things you didn't quite understand, but you didn't immediately think 'oh, I must be a witch', did you? Because that was impossible. Wasn't it?"

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes – that's a good point, Harry. I always knew there was something different about me, I didn't fit in... I just didn't have a name for it. But even if what you're saying is true –"

"It _is_. I've seen his ship, I've been inside it!"

"- even assuming that it is, how do you know you can trust him? He could be in league with Vol-"

"Don't say the name!" said Ron warningly.

"- with You-Know-Who, for all you know, trying to get you to trust him…"

"He's not," said Harry. "He's a good person. I just – know it," he finished lamely. "Anyway, Dumbledore wouldn't let one of You-Know Who's supporters into the school…" Harry tailed off, aware that this argument was somewhat undermined by the presence on last year's staff of Professor Quirrell, who not only supported Lord Voldemort but actually turned out to have him sticking out of the back of his head.

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other with worried expressions. Hermione started leafing through the book in front of her as though the answer might just be found in there, but somehow Harry didn't think the Doctor would be found in any magic books, and told her so rather sharply.

oOo

Harry was sure that the Doctor's little lecture on the recognition of the Imperius curse had been aimed at him directly, and the only reason he could think of for that was that someone in Harry's vicinity was, or would be, subject to it at some point. Therefore he was studying everyone's behaviour with an eagle eye, but no-one appeared to be acting strangely or suspiciously in any way. Malfoy was horrible, of course, but Malfoy was always horrible so there was nothing remotely unusual about that. Same went for Snape – and honestly, Harry couldn't really imagine anyone successfully Imperius-ing Snape, anyway. Despite their mutual dislike, Harry could not doubt that Snape was a highly skilled and accomplished wizard with a profound awareness of the Dark Arts. Malfoy's friends, Crabbe and Goyle, walked around with gormless expressions on their faces and didn't appear to have a single independent thought in either of their heads, but again, that was situation normal.

Of course, Harry reflected, it was equally if not more possible that rather than being someone already unpleasant, the Imperiused person would be someone usually harmless or indeed nice. Someone like Lavender Brown, just as an example, he thought as Lavender, deep in excited conversation with Parvati, walked past where Harry sat in the common room. But then again, Lavender's behaviour seemed normal for her, if you could call gazing swooningly at Gilderoy Lockhart every time he came into sight normal - and if that was a sign of the Imperius curse, then half the other girls were under it too. Harry briefly toyed with the notion that Lockhart himself had boosted his own popularity by means of Imperius-ing every girl in sight, but reluctantly dismissed the idea on the grounds that the professor would undoubtedly have bungled it in some way.

"Harry – look at this!" Hermione hurried into the room and threw herself into the chair beside Harry. Looking round anxiously to check they weren't being overheard, she opened a large, heavy book entitled "Notable Wizarding Battles" and began flicking through.

"Harry, I know you said he wouldn't be in any of the books, but I just thought I would try – what do you think about this?"

She indicated a colour illustration which bore the caption "First Wizarding War – Invasion of Britain." The illustration – moving, of course – depicted a battle between wizards, giants and werewolves in bleak, rocky terrain somewhere at what appeared to be night-time, the participants running, ducking, firing spells, stomping, pouncing, waving clubs and baring teeth, depending on species. The many casualties lay unmoving, strewn across the ground.

"Wow," said Harry, shuddering at the gory scene. "But what's that got to do with the Doctor?"

"Look." Hermione pointed. Towards the back of the picture, standing out by virtue of its total incongruity, small but clearly distinguishable behind a pile of rocks, stood a familiar-looking blue box. "Didn't you say – isn't that his – thing he travels around in? Is that what it looks like?"

Harry stared in silence, trying to take in what he was seeing. That was the TARDIS, no doubt about it, unless another police box had somehow appeared at the site of one of the most famous battles in wizard history, which seemed unlikely. There was no sign of its occupant, though.

"Hermione – when did this battle happen?"

"Sometime in the early 1970s, during Vol – during You-Know-Who's first rise to power. It doesn't give an exact date. The whole thing went on for quite a while."

"He'd have been younger then," Harry said to himself, "he can't be more than forty-something now – I suppose it's possible – but why would he be - "

He looked at Hermione. "I suppose you might believe me now?"

She looked serious. "Yes, but, Harry. Maybe this picture proves he was there. But it doesn't – it doesn't prove which side he was on."

oOo

Rose Tyler stood at the high window of the small bedroom she'd been allocated and gazed out over the Hogwarts grounds. In the distance she could see Hagrid, the enormous gamekeeper, pushing an enormous wheelbarrow full of assorted debris. Rose had spoken to Hagrid a few times at mealtimes in the Great Hall and had found him rather restful company, as he seemed to accept her presence at Hogwarts without question and didn't quiz her about her background as some of the other teachers were unfortunately inclined to do. (Rose had become expert at dissembling with vague remarks about her family having been living abroad for some years - as a supposed Squib, there was no need to explain why she hadn't attended Hogwarts herself.) A group of older students were walking across the grass carrying broomsticks, clearly heading for early Quidditch practice, among them Oliver Wood.

Suddenly realising it was later than she'd thought, Rose adjusted the plain robes she'd been given when she arrived – she was convinced they didn't suit her one bit and dearly longed to be back in her favourite jeans and hoodie – and hurried out of the room towards the hospital wing. Her heart sank as she spotted Mr Filch, the caretaker, approaching her down the corridor, and she braced herself for yet another interrogation; Filch still seemed completely unable to get his head round the idea that Rose was a member of staff and not either a student with ideas above her station, or someone who had just wandered in off the street. He seemed entirely lacking in fellow-feeling towards Rose as a supposed fellow Squib, and in fact seemed to rather resent this reminder of his own lack of magical powers. However, to her surprise, on this occasion he passed without comment, his scraggy old cat, Mrs Norris, trotting behind him. Mrs Norris gave Rose an unpleasant stare. Filch, however, ignored her.

A few moments later, the Doctor fell into step beside her. "Morning, Nurse Tyler. Ready for the day?"

"As always." Rose grinned at him.

"Remember what we planned, but be careful, right? Don't let anything slip."

"I _know_. Don't worry. Safe pair of hands, see?" She held them up, smiling. "Anyway, what will you be doing, while I'm – you know?"

"Ah, well – I've got a couple of students to see in my office. Should be interesting. Catch you later!" And he strode off down the corridor - still in his leather jacket, no wizard robes for him - with a little wave.


End file.
